


Closer To The Edge

by TheChief, YourForever



Series: Meta's Birthday Collection [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Barely any Clifford, F/M, I think it's six., I'll add more next time, I've rewritten this ending over four times now, It started off good and then kinda went down the drain, Meta, Relationship is in the past, This'll be attempt number six?, just saying, sorry about that, this one sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChief/pseuds/TheChief, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourForever/pseuds/YourForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t remember the moment I tried to forget. I lost myself, is it better not said? Now, I’m closer to the edge. It was a thousand to one and a million to two, time to go down in flames and I’m taking you closer to the edge.</p><p>No, I’m not saying I’m sorry. One day, maybe we’ll meet again.</p><p>Can you imagine a time when the truth ran free? The birth of a song, the death of a dream? </p><p>This never ending story, paid for with pride and fate. We all fall short of glory, lost innocence.</p><p>I will never forget. I will never regret. I will live my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer To The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Reason Number Two:
> 
> Because we’ve had more Inuyasha marathons than I can count.

My skin sparks under the ghost of fingers along my back. More of a memory than a dream, but it’s enough to wake me up with a smile curling my lips.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I miss the press of a palm to my lower back, the acknowledgment that, oh, maybe I’m worth something. The adoration of another human being.

It’s always nice to be loved.

Two years after everything is over, I still dream of frenzied kisses behind the school and pushed up against his bedroom door.

I still miss the smell of his cologne on the too big shirts I used to steal from him. The slight hint of just _him_ because I always stole the shirts he played football in. When he wore them.

I force myself up, out of bed, pulling too large sweats higher up on my hips, ignoring the torn band shirt that I couldn’t wear in public anymore for decency’s sake. This is what I’d asked for.

He wanted to become a rockstar. I wanted to get a degree. I’m not saying we wouldn’t have worked out at all, just that I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle the commute back home.

Especially not after I managed to get into Julliard.

The breakup had been hard for both of us, but he wasn’t willing to consider school for a little longer and I couldn’t pass up on this opportunity.

My too large flat in New York is emptier than it should be, but my mum insisted on it. Julliard had given me a scholarship, but mum and dad had agreed that I shouldn’t stay on campus.

I hate it.

Don’t get me wrong, moving through the city, hearing the music it makes all around you in the early hours when you’re only worried about getting to class without spilling your coffee is great. But I miss home.

I miss too hot summers and big blue water. I’m still close to an ocean, yeah, but it’s not the same. I’m not living on the beach. It smells different. Harsher. Less welcoming.

I miss the press of burning sand to the bottoms of my feet, the splash of little kids in the waves. The smell of brine clinging to Cal’s skin after a long day babysitting my brother.

I pull open the top drawer of my dresser. A little after four. The city is wide awake outside my window, which is good, cause I know I am too. I won’t be able to even consider sleep with Cal back behind my eyelids.

I pull on some fuzzy socks and grab a cardigan to pull on over the tank I slept in, before heading for the kitchen.

My phone is blinking on the counter, but I don’t wanna reach for it. Not in this state of mind. Knowing myself, I’ll unplug it from the charger and call Cal.

Neither of us need that.

I haven’t broken down and called him yet. I’ve been trying not to notice that suddenly his picture is plastered everywhere and girls are always talking about him.

It’s not working.

So I sit on one of the two mismatched stools at the bar in my kitchenette and wait. Wait for the hollow twist to fade. Wait for the yearning to go back to him is replaced by yearning to go back to bed. Wait for the coffee machine to beep and start it’s automated process.

The coffee is done before I’m ready to get up and move from where I am, but I lift my head from where my arms are folded on the counter and stand, fill a mug, add cream and sugar, and burn my tongue because it’s still too hot to drink, but I’m too tired to wait.

After a cold shower, my coffee is still too hot, but I don’t consider it, inside pouring myself a second cup.

The sun is rising behind my window and I reach for my phone finally, figuring that I can control myself again.

There’s two texts. I open the one from my parents first.

 _Ready to come home?_ Break is next week and the message hits a little too close to home. I have three classes and then it’s spring break.

But I wanna go home now.

Suddenly, I’m fifteen again and my friend and I had come to blows, but mum wasn’t answering her phone and dad was out of the damned country and Cal and I were in our first real fight and he was so fucking stubborn that he wouldn’t apologize first and I two weeks long, I couldn’t even remember what had caused it.

The ache in my chest is to have everything go back. Go back to our first date, sitting on my couch after letting him win a game of FIFA.

I’d ended up walking the many miles back to my house and hadn’t actually mentioned it to anyone else.

I don’t check the next message. I can’t. Not right now. Not when it’s Cal’s name blinking next to the light.

So I dial up my brother.

“Isn’t it early for you?” He sounds sleepy but not surprised. It takes me a second to count back and my god, he’s in his last year of school now, isn’t he?

“Just a little. Missed you. Why are you up?” I keep my eyes on the coffee cup on the counter before me.

“Maths. You?”

“Homesick.”

“Have you called -?”

“No.” He misses Calum as much as I do, except he doesn’t have to stay silent. From what mum tells me, the two of them talk on the phone for hours sometimes. Cal wants to drop back and see if my brother is still up to par on his football skills.

“Call him.” He’s how I met Cal. He’d always been a big football fan and he’d go to all the school games. One time, he got up the nerve to go meet the best players on the team after the game and he’d been grinning and giggling the whole time.

Cal had offered to give him a few tips and had followed through on the deal. We’d only met once Cal’s FIFA skills came into question. My brother knew I was the best and he refused to let Calum challenge my title.

So he’d brought us together.

“I can’t.”

“Stubborn. I have school. Skype dinner? I’ll get mum in on it. You can talk about your violin stuff.”

I have to pause, think for a moment. Orchestra rehearsal had been canceled the evening before. Something to do with the conductor having a family thing. The strings were all pretty sure that he’d just wanted an early vacation.

“I think I can work with that. If she’s busy that’s fine, I’ll be on a plane back home tomorrow.”

“Gotcha. G’night. Love ya.”

“Back atcha.”

And the call is over. Normally our talks help, but the ache is stronger and my mind flickers back to my dream and I miss everything.

My brother’s words ring in my ears – my god, when did he get so much more mature than me? – and my fingers are tracking over the edge of my phone again.

And so I call. Because I can’t quite pull myself back from the edge.

The phone rings four times before I remember being fifteen again. Calum has always been stubborn and there’s a chance he won’t answer simply because it’s me calling, but then a guy’s voice comes over the system, sounding sleepy and frustrated.

“Uh, Mikey? Can I talk to Cal?”

“Oh, right, sorry… One end table, two phones. Cal, it’s for you.” He doesn’t ask who it is, probably doesn’t need to.

I hear a vague, “of course it is, you twat. It’s my phone.” Before his voice is in my ear again and I want to cry out.

“’ello?”

“Hey, it’s, uh.. it’s me.”

“Oh.” There’s silence and the rustle of cloth. “Just… Gimme a sec.”

I can hear the sound of a screen door and am reminded of how big they are now. I’m slightly surprised that he’s still stuck sharing rooms with anyone.

“Sorry.. Just figured this should be a bit more…”

“Us. I get it.” I ignore his apology. He’d always done this before and hope burns a little brighter in my chest.

“Yeah. So, you called then..”

“Oh, uh yeah. Surprised you answered.”

“I’ll always answer when you call. Though, technically this time Michael took care of it for me.”

“Oh, shut up, you ass. You’re bullheaded and we both know it.”

“Is that all you called for?”

“No, I uh.. I just wanted to reconnect.”

“Reconnect?” He sounds skeptical.

“Yeah.. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” He’s teasing now, I can tell. The slight lilt to his voice.”

“Yes, I miss you. I just… I dreamt of the morning after your seventeenth birthday last night. It got me thinking.”

“About what?”

And the ache grows. My fingers tighten around the phone and I miss the press of his palm to mine so sharply I can hardly breathe.

“About you. About us. About the decision for me to come here. I mean,”

“It’s what you wanted.” He cuts me off.

“No, I get that. It’s what I wanted. Hell, Cal, I’m in fucking New York City, going to Julliard. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of. Except… Except it’s empty without you by my side. I want so desperately that I’m willing to give it all up.”

“You’re the one that made the decision to split.” His voice comes down cold and hard and I’m hit with the sudden realization that this is what it was coming to. He’d been pulling away since the beginning of the call. Distancing himself from emotion.

“Of course. And I’m not sorry that I came here. Calum, this is what I’ve wanted since before I could talk. My dreams are coming true. I just wish you could be here to experience it with me.”

“My dreams are coming true too. And, I’ll tell you what, they’re better than expected. It’s astounding to be a star. And I wish I could say that I want you here, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle this stuff. I think this was the best decision you could’ve made.”

And he’s being harsh, but I don’t know why. Can’t figure out a reason.

“Okay, Calum… I get it.” My voice sounds small to my own ears and my coffee cup is cold against my fingers so I get up, dump it out, get more. “I’m sorry I called. I just… I missed you. Thought you might like the chance to talk again. Me waving the white flag and all.”

There’s the sound of the door again. Michael’s voice. “I have to go.”

And he’s gone.

So I bite back the urge to scream and lock myself away from the conversation that just happened.

I change my clothes, put on my favorite oversized sweater, and my best jeans. I fix my hair and pull on a beanie, wrap a scarf around my neck. I grab the fingerless gloves from my room and pull on a jacket and my converse before leaving.

I send out a text and blow off my morning lecture to hang out in Times Square with a friend. We laugh and I fill the aching want with coffee and Christmas cookies.

And, in the end, I’m back in my flat with my Skype up on my laptop, my mum and brother grinning at me from the other end, when I get a text.

_Sorry about earlier. I miss you too. I just can’t think about what happened. Maybe in another two years?_

I type out a reply and turn off my phone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests for fics, send them to my [Twitter ](http://twitter.com/atlbarakitty) or my [ Tumblr ](http://tumblr.com/bring-me-the-superwholock.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> Leave a kudos/comment telling me what you liked or what you hated.. Y'know. Whatever.


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